


Of Camellias and Polaroids

by ShatterTheNexus



Category: LOONA (Korea Band)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 17:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatterTheNexus/pseuds/ShatterTheNexus
Summary: Jinsoul helps Jungeun realize the first step to being fine is to not be fine.





	Of Camellias and Polaroids

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the MV for “Fine” by Taeyeon.

“_Take care._”

“_You too._”

The bitter words echo throughout the dark apartment. Jungeun brushes back her hair and pulls her knees up to her chest. Exhaustion crashes over her. It’s so cold tonight but she can’t be bothered to turn on the heat.

Three months and she’s still in this rut. It’s pathetic really. He said it with such casual finality. She tricks herself into thinking it was mutual, but she had so much more to say. So much to defend. He left without hearing any of it, without knowing. Or maybe he did and he couldn’t find what she saw in their time together. It aches to the point it suffocates her.

Honks from the streets below let her know people still exist. The world beyond these walls keeps revolving. A draft sends photo scraps raining down on Jungeun. She takes in the space. It’s a mess but she doesn’t have the strength to purge it. These broken pieces still have meaning. They don’t disappear just because Jungeun wants them to. This force leeches off her. If it can’t feed off of affection, it’ll scavenge for desperation and doubt.

Jungeun wishes they had a dramatic fight. Fists against walls, sore throats and hot tears, raging blood and a barrier they can’t understand each other through. There was none of that. It was so quiet. So peaceful and confusing and civil. It was so blunt Jungeun couldn’t counter it. It just wasn’t one of those conversations. But it was their last. So Jungeun doesn’t have the excuse to burn it all out of loathing. She doesn’t have the luxury of an emotional release. Her mistake was that she felt too much. He couldn’t match it. That’s why he left. Jungeun understands the words but it doesn’t make sense. Why wasn’t she enough?

A calendar notification reminds her of a ragtag high school reunion in an hour. It’s at some bar downtown. Her legs slide under the low coffee table, sweeping away the memories littering the floor. She opens the event page on her laptop and stares at her attendance reply. RSVP’ed with a plus one. She feels nauseous. Fingers work on autopilot to explain why she has to pass. She hopes the headcount doesn’t matter too much for the popular kid-turned-doctor hosting this whole shebang. Her cursor hovers over the post button when she receives a private message.

**Jung Jinsoul:** _Hey! I see you’re attending the reunion._

Jungeun scoffs at how the woman’s voice rings clearly in her head. After all this time, it should be expected. She bites her lip and types out a reply, shakes her head at its terseness, retypes, hits send.

**Kim Jungeun:** _Oh yeah. I actually changed my mind. I was just about to edit my status. Not really in the mood tonight._

Jinsoul responds immediately.

**Jung Jinsoul:** _Aww come on. I was gone for months. Don’t you wanna see me?_

**Kim Jungeun:** _You’re back and you didn’t tell me?!_

Jungeun gets a gif of a fluffy puppy looking guilty. She sends an emoji rolling its eyes and it pops up ten times bigger in the chat. They go back and forth until the memes and gifs begin referencing things neither of them recognize. It’s just like old times. Jungeun sinks into a small reprieve.

Doraemon’s theme song blasts obnoxiously from the depths of the couch. Jungeun digs around, glances at the red battery icon, and answers the call.

“I’m picking you up in fifteen and that’s final.” The line goes dead.

Jungeun really doesn’t want to go, but she grew up with this woman. Jinsoul is just as stubborn as she is. Jungeun’s options are to either attend the reunion or lose her security deposit to the landlord for a door replacement. She trudges to the bathroom with a groan, oblivious to her reflection struggling not to smile.

Jinsoul gives her a generous thirty minutes instead. Still, “I hate you,” says Jungeun when she opens the door.

Except she’s staring at a mint chocolate smoothie from her favorite cafe chain, a mini sack of apology biscuits, and…

“See. You say that but here you are, dressed up and makeup done. And here I am with goodies.” Jinsoul grins from behind a small bouquet of flowers.

Jungeun raises an eyebrow. “What’s the occasion?”

“I’m the occasion!”

Jungeun scoffs. She scrunches her nose in a way that tells Jinsoul she’s being ridiculous. Jinsoul never had the audacity nor the voice to back her arrogant comments. Jungeun’s glad that hasn’t changed over the years. She gives her best friend a welcome home hug, takes the bouquet, and leads Jinsoul inside. The scent is faint, but soothing and warm like a bit of spice in the middle of winter. She rummages for a vase and fills it with water, stroking the soft pink petals once they’re arranged.

“They’re camellias.” Jinsoul shrugs when Jungeun glances at her curiously. “I was passing by and thought they were pretty.”

“Don’t mind the mess.” Jungeun twiddles her thumbs awkwardly as Jinsoul tours her living room.

“You make it sound like a tornado ripped through here.”

Jungeun keeps to herself that it did, in fact, resemble such a tragedy moments before Jinsoul buzzed her apartment.

Jinsoul continues, “You started picking up English? You hated it in high school.” She thumbs through a book on the shelf. She laughs when a fluff of dust falls into her palm.

He must’ve forgotten to take it, not that he needs it.

“Come on. The reception starts in half an hour.” Jungeun hides her reddening ears and shoves down the discomfort rising in her throat. Taking Jinsoul’s hand, she leads them out of the building and towards the city’s nightlife district.

Beer glasses clink all around the second floor of the bar reserved for the event. Cheap decorations hang lopsided on the walls. Jungeun’s surprised and touched that a few sips in, Jinsoul tugs the glass out of her grasp and replaces it with a can of citrus soda nobody saw her order. Beer was never Jungeun’s favorite. Jinsoul finishes both of theirs. The table doesn’t let Jungeun off that easily, so she concedes to taking two shots with the group.

“Remember they’d be joined at the hip?”

“Jungeun, captain of the dance company, and Jinsoul, founder of the Mathletes.”

Jinsoul throws a peanut at the pair sitting on the other side. “Excuse you. Which of us came back with a gold trophy that year?” She puffs out her chest in pride.

Jungeun feels her inhibitions melting away in Jinsoul’s stable presence. She tilts her head back dramatically. “To this day, I don’t know how we lost. Our rivals _twerked_.”

They break off into small talk after that. Jinsoul’s explaining the details of her research grant proposal in conjunction with a lab in France. The woman next to Jungeun pokes her arm.

“I thought you’d bring your arm candy as your plus one.”

Jungeun’s overly conscious of the decreasing volume around them. “Oh, yeah. We’re not…” She gestures vaguely with her hands, finding it difficult to say aloud. “We broke up recently.” It warrants less questions than if she said it was two weeks after the reunion was announced.

“Aww, that’s a shame. You two looked so good together! My singleton self lived vicariously through all your cute posts.”

It takes a lot for Jungeun to laugh it off. Thankfully the others are too drunk to notice.

“Don’t tell me there was someone else.” The guy across the table looks ready for a back alley brawl.

“No, no! He’d never— It wasn’t that.”

“Then what? He seemed perfect,” the woman says, taking a sloppy swig of her beer.

_I thought so too_. “We just fell out of love,” Jungeun says simply.

The table boos. She hopes she comes off as playfully exasperated. She knows it sounds like bullshit but it wasn’t a lie. Not for him anyways.

“Jungeun…”

Jinsoul catches her eye. Jungeun starts shaking her head with a mirthless smile. She was not going to have a mopey Jinsoul hounding her. Not tonight.

“I’m fine,” she reassures.

She barely registers Jinsoul telling the others it’s late and they need to get going. In a flash Jinsoul’s cutting across the park on the way to Jungeun’s apartment, the shorter woman in tow. Jungeun tugs on their hands until Jinsoul stumbles back.

“I said I’m fine. Really.”

Jungeun’s laughs come out strangled, trailing off as Jinsoul steps closer. Fingers reach up and thread through her hair, coaxing her into a state meant for blanket forts, tissues, and midnight confessions.

“No, you’re not, Jungeun.”

Scoffing, Jungeun shakes her head in disbelief. She keeps shaking her head until she nods stiffly, tears streaming down her cheeks and soaking Jinsoul’s coat.

“I’m not fine.”

Jinsoul engulfs the shorter woman in her arms and sways them until Jungeun stops trembling. Returning to an empty bed is an agonizing prospect. Jungeun doesn’t even have to ask Jinsoul to stay the night. Her hands clutching onto Jinsoul’s sleeve say enough.

She wakes early the next morning, dreary and congested, to Jinsoul’s smile. She combs through Jungeun’s hair in soothing strokes. Jinsoul lets Jungeun snuggle under the covers for another hour before ushering her to the shower. When Jungeun emerges fresh-faced and hair damp, Jinsoul has a pot of coffee brewing and eggs in the frying pan.

Jungeun almost chokes up as the image of him flashes over the small kitchen corner. But she’s all cried out at the moment and too hungry to dwell on it.

Huh. Jinsoul adds a dash of olive oil to the dollop of butter. That’s new.

~|~|~|~

They’re on the floor of Jungeun’s living room after a long Friday at work. Jinsoul recounts a celebratory binge night with her colleagues and the French research team while abroad.

“They said I look like Daenerys Targaryen.”

Jungeun takes a sip of her wine, tilts her head and narrows her eyes. “I can see it. You both have a small head. Sharp jawline. Blindingly reflective hair.”

“Hey!” Jinsoul nudges Jungeun under the coffee table.

Jungeun thrusts three throw pillows into Jinsoul’s arms and hails to the sky. “Breaker of Chains! Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea!”

“Mother of Dragons! The Unburnt!”

Jungeun snorts because despite Jinsoul being a great home chef, she’s deathly afraid of lighting matches and keeps her apartment free of candles.

“It fits,” Jungeun mumbles. “You’re always looking out for the little guy. You’re smart though. You can take a few hits, but you won’t risk your neck for pride or honor. You just wanna make sure they’re okay.”

Jungeun reaches up cautiously. When Jinsoul doesn’t move, Jungeun rubs her thumb over the light scar between Jinsoul’s eyebrows.

“Do you remember that night?” Jinsoul asks.

“How could I forget? I was grounded for my grade in English but we already had tickets to see yyxy play live. I couldn’t miss it. And you were gonna stay home if I didn’t go. I remember we broke our P.E. records sprinting home. We barely made it back before my parents.”

“And everyone said climbing trees wasn’t a useful skill,” Jinsoul tuts. She empties her glass and grins cheekily. “You didn’t have to hide me in your closet. They never came in.”

“They could’ve! And you didn’t have to climb up with me. Then you wouldn’t have crawled through my window and scratched your head on that nail.”

Jinsoul shrugs. “Worth it.” She closes her eyes and lays her head against the couch cushion. She looks serene.

If only Jinsoul’s care-free energy could be bottled up in a potion. What Jungeun would give to have a restful night. Maybe that’s why she invited Jinsoul over so much. Because weekends meant no work and no work meant too much time to think, to reminisce. They finally finished the last of his favorite convenience store wine. Jungeun spent fifteen minutes trying to pour it down the drain earlier. She couldn’t and she knew she shouldn’t drink it alone. She’s pleasantly surprised that she only had half a glass. It’s probably why Jinsoul is drowsy at 10PM.

Jungeun guides her to the bedroom and tucks her in. Then she sweeps through the living room and cleans up their meal. The sink fills quietly with lemon-scented suds. She scrubs her stout gold-rimmed tumbler glass and stares at the shelf above her head. Half the set is missing. Only her glass remains, a snowman mug waves at her, she has a bundle of cutlery and a single stack of dishes. Jungeun digs through the bubbles for Jinsoul’s large wine glass. Tendrils of deep sapphire spiral from the stem and around the bowl. It was the prettiest one at the dollar store along with the plain fork and blue plate on the drying rack.

Everything’s mismatched but at least it fills in the space. It’s been a while since Jungeun made dinner for two. It felt good, whether or not she had the appetite for it.

~|~|~|~

After a week packed with meetings and an episode of hair loss, Jungeun falls ill. Her nose burns from the mountain of cheap tissues in her trash. Her throat itches when she breathes and throbs when she speaks. She’s sweating and shivering and feels absolutely disgusting.

Jinsoul whistles while stirring a big pot. “To chase away the chills,” she said when she showed up unannounced with a handful of groceries. A groggy Jungeun’s snug in a blanket burrito on the couch because the bedroom’s too far away when she knows someone’s home. She’s too congested and loopy from downing maximum strength medicine to stop her mind from wandering.

Jungeun blinks and suddenly the person by the stove has ruffled black hair, a broad back, and looks hilariously gigantic in her small Moomin apron. (It’s a full pullover with a stubby tail on the back.) The steady thud of a sharp blade dicing crunchy carrots and crisp onions almost lulls her to sleep. He’d brush the vegetables into a crock pot with one smooth swish. A bit of oil to make them tender and release their juices. In goes a whole chicken and stock. A dusting of cracked pepper, a sprinkle of salt. A kiss to her forehead before he left for work.

A sizzle jolts her out of her daze. Jinsoul doesn’t have carrots, onions, nor a bird lounging in a Jacuzzi of its own broth. She masterfully butchered a whole chicken and now its components are browning beautifully. The caramelized bits at the bottom make the whole room smell incredible. Jungeun’s surprised she can smell at all. Jinsoul wields a fork and tongs. She jabs at each piece, shredding the slightly rare meat. Jinsoul’s build is smaller, narrower, but her shoulders still roll distinctly under the fabric of her shirt. Jungeun wonders what she’s making. A cup or so of raw rice goes into the pot. Water sloshes around hypnotically. A handful of green strips…

“Jungeun.”

“Hmm.”

“Jungeunie. Wake up. It’s time to eat.”

Jungeun whines and rolls over. Jinsoul chuckles and rolls her back. Jungeun nearly falls off the couch but Jinsoul catches her. She sits up resentfully and rubs her eyes.

“Medicine first.”

Jungeun grimaces at the large pill held up to her mouth. She downs it with half a glass of water. Her stomach grumbles in protest. The couch sinks on her right. She leans into Jinsoul’s side, fingers curling around the crook of her elbow. A spoon clinks against ceramic. Jinsoul blows three times.

“Ah.”

Jungeun opens her mouth with minimal effort. The spoon slides in and gently bumps against her teeth. She’s fully awake. It’s been a week since she sensed flavor. Her eyes widen, finally acknowledging the piping hot bowl in Jinsoul’s palm. Chicken congee with shredded lettuce.

“Vivi, one of our data analysts, said congee’s easy to keep down. Doesn’t make you feel bloated like soup does. Add some cabbage or lettuce to put some nutrients back in you; and it doesn’t really overcook in a pool of mushed rice. Got the recipe from her last night.”

Jinsoul cools down another spoonful. Jungeun opens her mouth eagerly.

“And of course chicken for protein. Searing it first intensifies the flavor. Render out the fat and let it seep into the rice. Plus…” Jinsoul stirs around the congee. A puff of steam dissipates in her face. “The original calls for ground beef or pork. But I know you don’t like the texture of ground anything.”

“Rubbery mystery niblets,” grumbles Jungeun.

She side-eyes Jinsoul hard because the woman mimics her at the same time, but in a high nasally voice that doesn’t sound like Jungeun at all. They even squawk in sync, Jungeun in annoyance and Jinsoul in joyous mockery. Jungeun shoves her.

“Hey! Be nice, I’m feeding you!”

Jungeun crosses her arms and huffs (a moist and phlegmy exhale that escalates to a coughing fit). Jinsoul imitates the sputtering engine of a plane while weaving the spoon through the air. Jungeun rolls her eyes and opens her mouth.

“I’m not enjoying this. I just don’t want you ruining my couch.”

Jinsoul hums, unconvinced.

~|~|~|~

Jungeun was doing well. Really well. Until she woke up this morning to a square on her calendar labeled with a heart and a name.

It’s his birthday.

Jungeun leans her forehead against the wall. She forces herself to stop planning a whole day of celebration. It stings like a web of poison spreading to every nerve.

The apartment is too small. It’s suffocating. It still holds traces of him, of them, though they’ve been pushed far from her mind for a while. Things rush back and shunt her out. She strolls through the park nearby with convenience store coffee in one hand and a heat pack in her pocket. It’s chilly after a warm week in October. An accurate reflection, Jungeun thinks. She’s so tired of battling it.

Jungeun ambles up the path, leaves crunching underfoot, until something thuds on the cement. A small round fruit rolls down the incline and bops the tip of her shoe. It slides around the edge, settling in the crevice between her feet. Someone approaches softly and slowly. Their right foot steps in front of Jungeun’s left. The other aligns perfectly until all four shoes nestle the red fruit in the center.

“Cute, isn’t it? These trees drop crab apples a bit later than the ones near me.”

Jungeun tries to laugh. She tries to come up with a question about apples or urban green space. She tries to articulate an invitation to some mom-and-pop restaurant where the owners would fawn over how pretty and bright they look while gleefully refilling their side dishes.

All she can manage is, “Make me forget.”

She expects the woman to tug her into an embrace, cradle her head against a warm chest and dispel her sinking thoughts with a low, soothing voice. Instead, Jinsoul turns on her heels to crouch down. She reaches back for Jungeun’s hands and pulls them over her shoulders. Jinsoul stands and walks briskly down the street, carrying Jungeun on her back as if the woman was weightless.

Music plays in the distance. A fall festival comes into view. Soft lanterns hang overhead between the stalls lining the streets. Kids laugh while chasing paper planes. Sizzling griddles turn ingredients into art and comfort and childhood. Threads of candy floss dance through the air and drift towards the city.

Jinsoul lowers Jungeun gently to the ground, then takes her hand and weaves through the crowd. They get two orders of stir-fried noodles and a pack of dumplings to share. Jinsoul hops onto the ledge of a raised grassy median along the walkway. She crosses her legs and plops down. Jungeun scrunches her nose at Jinsoul’s youthful innocence, taking a spot on the ledge and arranging the food between them.

“What?” Jungeun stares back at Jinsoul, her hand frozen above an opened container.

Jinsoul grins and taps Jungeun’s chopsticks with her own. The beansprouts wiggle before falling onto the pile on the lid. “You remember I don’t like them.”

“You almost puking them up at the cafeteria table is something I can’t unsee.” Jungeun deftly plucks the last of the beansprouts and hands over the noodles. She picks up her own and digs in hungrily.

“You used to love potstickers,” Jinsoul says, picking up a steamed dumpling and jamming the entire thing in her mouth.

“You still eat like a kid,” Jungeun chides. She brushes a stray scallion from the corner of Jinsoul’s mouth. “I don’t mind them, but they’re a bit oily. I’ve been into steamed food lately. Especially now that it’s getting colder.”

“We have to go to Hong Kong.”

“All of a sudden? Why?”

Jinsoul swallows her food and her cheeks deflate. She bounces in excitement, her knees bobbing up and down. “There’s a place that serves hot pot with a steaming seafood tower. They put crabs, lobsters, clams, oysters, everything into baskets. You eat it layer by layer. And all the juices drip down into a pot of congee with chicken and blue crab.”

Jungeun groans in envy. It’s ridiculous how they talk about food while stuffing their faces. Yet it’s endearing because the pattern comprises a third of their history. When they’re finished, Jungeun cleans up their trash. Jinsoul returns with two small cones of gelato layered like flower petals. Chocolate for Jungeun, green tea for herself. They walk slowly towards the riverfront, bumping each other’s shoulders and petting dogs along the way.

“Wanna try?” Jinsoul points at the paddle boat rental stall.

Jinsoul steps in first. Jungeun yelps with half her weight leaning into Jinsoul’s side, her other hand latching onto the employee’s with an iron grip.

“Let go! I got you!”

“You laughing doesn’t convince me!”

“Literally, just lift your foot and you’ll be in the boat.”

“It’s shaking! I can feel it, it’s going to tip over if I move.”

“Jungeun, please, you are cutting off this poor guy’s circulation. Lean back and if anything, I’ll be the one in the water.”

The employee hugs his arm to his chest after unchaining their boat from the dock. They bump into the wall and a few other boats when one paddles faster than the other. Eventually they weave down the river to the barrier of the rental area. They rest their legs and take in the festival view.

Jungeun follows the flashing lights on the rippling surface of the water to a large ferris wheel. The cars climb slowly, swaying from the constant stops to load passengers on and off.

Suddenly she’s sitting in the topmost cabin, hands held tightly in his and tears threatening to fall. All fears of plummeting ten stories are dashed when he asks her to be his girlfriend.

“You ask the impossible of me, you know. But that’s a very human thing to do.”

Jinsoul wipes the tears streaming down Jungeun’s cheeks. She laces her fingers between Jungeun’s and squeezes.

“There’s no trick to getting over someone. And there’s no forgetting.” Jinsoul shrugs. “You can only forgive yourself. There’s absolutely _nothing_ wrong with you. And from what you’ve told me the past few years, there’s nothing wrong with him either. Something was incompatible and he didn’t want to work at it anymore.”

“There was no reason to stay? To try?” Jungeun chokes out.

“No,” Jinsoul confirms. “Not for him. And you have to accept that. Because I know you. You’re the kind of person whose passion is limitless, whose love is endless, whose faith is unbreakable. You’re also the kind of person who doesn’t leave any of that for yourself. It’s not a lacking point. But it hurts when you put in more of yourself than someone does in you.”

Jungeun feels her heart lying bare for all to see, beating slower and slower. It aches. It shrivels up. It’s so weak.

“You’re amazing, you know.”

Jungeun furrows her eyebrows, sniffing as she looks up. Jinsoul stares straight ahead at the length of the river. She speaks when Jungeun says nothing.

“You feel so purely. You glow when others smile. You get so excited when everyone laughs. You’re just brimming with energy from bringing people happiness. That’s what he was for you. It wasn’t forever like you wanted, like you expected, but it was true. Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Jungeun croaks.

“It’s hard. It’s really, _really _hard. It’s a long road with mist five steps in front of you the whole time. But eventually you’ll find someone who can do that again. Someone who makes you smile and laugh and happy. And they’ll do even more. They’ll make you feel safe, they’ll be your home. They’ll argue with you, forget about the socks in the dryer, finish the last of your coffee and tell you they can’t imagine a single day without you. You’ll say you hate being cheesy but crave that feeling again five minutes later. Deep, deep down where you bottle up those words for a rainy day.”

It’s not until three days later that Jungeun processes it all. She thinks Jinsoul might be onto something. And it’s sad how wise it is, because how many times has Jinsoul given that monologue to her own reflection?

Jungeun starts walking. Though she can’t see the end, she knows it’s there in the mist.

~|~|~|~

Jungeun doesn’t know how Jinsoul does it. The pieces are so small in Jungeun’s bulky hands.

The day starts off with some herbal tea, a cup of yogurt with fresh fruit, and losing a minuscule Gundam head under her couch. Jungeun claws at the ground just short of the plastic hugging the wall. She rolls up a magazine, flattens against the floor, and gives it a good whack. The round piece flies out into the open.

Four hours later, Jungeun finally has the head, torso, and wing spikes of the model completed. She’s hunched over the thick building manual to check her progress on the right arm. Thankfully the hand snaps into place without much fuss. Connecting the shoulder socket isn’t quite so. It’s hard to maneuver without popping the head off and she’s afraid of snapping the wing joint. A jolt runs down her spine when she hears the harsh clash of plastic. Nothing’s broken, but now her hands are shaking as much as her strained eyes.

Thunder rolls over the city. The natural light fades quickly, casting Jungeun in darkness. A drizzle paints her windows, then drops splatter against the panes like bullets. Jungeun ambles over to her desk. It’s become more of a storage shelf than a work space.

The lamp flickers on. The Doosan Bears bobblehead on the ledge was once part of a pair. Now it’s part of a Nanoblock family. An owl, a bonsai tree, a scuba diving set, a sushi plate, a lion.

(“It looks just like you!”

“Shut up!”

“So you don’t want it?”

“Of course I do…”)

On the wide windowsill sits a mini Eiffel Tower, the New York skyline dusted with fake snow, La Sagrada Família, and a Merlion beside the Sydney Opera House. Jinsoul’s stories made Jungeun want to travel the world, so Jinsoul brought the world to her.

Jungeun brushes aside a pile of scraps. One flips over. It’s her at the park. She wasn’t alone, but the other person had been ripped from the photo. There are a lot of them. Torn memories littering the table. They form the base of a collection of printed polaroids, seemingly added over the past year right under her nose. Jungeun finds herself smiling, recalling each day.

A candid photo of Jungeun belting out a high note at karaoke, a pair of slanted eyebrows in the foreground at the bottom edge.

A snap of Jinsoul making faces in the window of the university writing center, behind the freshman tutee Jungeun’s helping.

Jungeun caught like a deer in headlights with her fist stuck in a jar, scrounging up the last bit of peanut butter for a humble sandwich.

Two hands signing “rock on,” one bulky with prominent knuckles and another with slender fingers, posed above a steaming tray of convenience store ramen.

Jungeun cradling a large bubble tea cup that’s half-filled with tapioca pearls.

A perfect shot of center-stage where a spotlight beams down on seventeen-year-old Jungeun kneeling on the floor. Her head is flung back, her hair suspended like a ring of fire.

Jinsoul on the verge of tears in front of a goldfish scooping stall. Her new friends had flopped out of the bowl and slipped through the sewer grate.

Two indistinguishable blondes bawling on a rollercoaster, taken at the end of a steep drop inside a cave.

Jungeun gripping a mini carton of hipster Boxed Water and stringing ten hoops from a bucket onto her arm at a ring toss.

Jinsoul making a ruckus on the drum set at a cafe, Jungeun actually playing a Studio Ghibli medley on the piano.

Jungeun can look at it all without flinching. The photos, the bobblehead and figurines, the once empty drawers now filled with Jinsoul’s spare clothes, the hodgepodge of dishes. There’s still a dull ache, a reminder. But she doesn’t feel sorry for herself. She thinks she finally understands.

Jinsoul had been healing her her whole life. Dependable, loyal, selfless, and generous. She saw the gaping holes in Jungeun’s life and filled them in. But she was far from a replacement. She did things her own way. She rebuilt Jungeun on old foundations. The heartbreak and touches and memories of someone who walked away were all a part of Jungeun. Jinsoul held her piece by piece. She knew it’d take time for Jungeun to believe she could be happy and whole again.

Nature creates a human. Experiences shape the person. Relationships nurture the soul.

Jungeun picks up a train of polaroids taped top to bottom like a sticker booth photo reel. The background switches, the questionable drinks fade, the numbers in the corner count down, but the photo never changes. Jungeun’s wearing flashing devil horns. Jinsoul has blood stains painted at the corner of her lips and fake vampire fangs bared. From last October to the previous, to the year before that, all the way back to their first Halloween in high school when Jinsoul had long black tresses and Jungeun rebelliously sprayed streaks of red in hers.

Jungeun’s playfully rolling her eyes when the camera flashes.

Jinsoul’s looking at her. In all of them, without fail. Her gaze is tender and her smile is genuine.

Warmth blooms in a barren place that Jungeun hasn’t tended to for a while. A tear escapes and now she _has_ to finish building this goddamn action figure.

~|~|~|~

The security system buzzes. The camera at the front gate shows a slip of paper that reads “Let me in, Idiot.” When the doorbell rings, Jinsoul opens up to an empty hallway.

Only a gold and black Gundam model, gloriously buff in a battle stance, stares up at her from the threshold. Balanced precariously on its wing spikes is a flower. Jinsoul picks them up.

“What’s the occasion?”

“I’m the occasion,” Jungeun says, rounding the corner.

Jinsoul scoffs. Jungeun grins and if it weren’t for her nose scrunching up adorably, Jinsoul would think she’s growling.

“You had a sudden burgeoning desire to assemble a mech suit?”

“Yup.”

“And the flower?”

Jungeun tilts her head. “Not as sudden.”

“Do you… Do you know what it is?”

“A camellia.”

“You bought it because it looked pretty?” Jinsoul guesses.

“No. Just like a liar I know, whose pants are regrettably not on fire, I used the power of the internet.”

Jinsoul licks her dry lips. Jungeun’s wearing a newfound confidence. It’s just stupid enough to make her charming and bold. She watches Jinsoul stroke the petals of the pink flower.

“You’ve been waiting a long time, huh,” Jungeun says gently.

For the first time, Jinsoul looks scared. “How did you know?”

Jungeun reaches into her back pocket and flaps open a stack of taped polaroids. They unfold in a zigzag all the way to the floor. Jinsoul studies each photo as nostalgia washes over the two of them. When she reaches the final one from all those precious years ago, she inhales.

“So what happens now?”

Jungeun steps forward and shows the hand hidden behind her back. She presents a red camellia. It takes a second to settle in, then Jinsoul takes it by the stem. When she looks up, Jungeun sees the light dancing in her eyes.

“Well, I think you’ve waited long enough.”

Jungeun can’t stand it anymore. The second Jinsoul smiles, Jungeun wraps her arms around Jinsoul’s neck and kisses her.


End file.
